


Bend My Ear, I'm Not Gonna Go Away

by gingertintedglasses



Series: Running Up That Hill [15]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Communication, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, What Could Have Been, What-If, reassurance, self-care, war veteran Steve and civilian Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 00:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13283490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingertintedglasses/pseuds/gingertintedglasses
Summary: Prompt: War Veteran Steve and Cillvian Bucky: Sometimes Bucky just needs to cry, he grieves for the life they could’ve had and feels guilty. Until Steve, reassures him it’s quite normal to feel that way.





	Bend My Ear, I'm Not Gonna Go Away

Steve was going to his physical therapy appointment.  He was going to be going by _himself_.  It was a big day.  He hadn’t been able to drive by himself since the Incident and today was the first day he was going to.  He’d driven with Bucky in the car and done well.  He’d been cautious and a little slow but he’d done very well and Bucky still asked Steve to text him when he got to the facility to check in.  Steve had smiled (tight, not reaching his eyes) and agreed.  

Thirty minutes after Steve had left the house, Bucky’s phone beeped. _I’m here safe and sound xo_

Bucky breathed a sigh of relief and texted back _Thank you.  Have a good appt. :)_

He felt guilty, asking Steve to check in like he’d just gotten his learner’s permit (though in fairness, he’d only been cleared to drive a month ago).  But he just. He _worried_.  Steve was physically recovering (and in other ways, too) but it didn’t mean he didn’t have bad moments.  Hours. Days.  Something would happen – and it wasn’t always obvious what “it” might be – and Steve would have a flashback.  A panic attack.  Which was ok. Progress wasn’t a straight line and that was something they’d _both_ had to learn and then work through accepting.  What wasn’t ok was not always knowing whether Steve had the support he needed when those things happened.

And if Bucky wasn’t there.  If Bucky wasn’t there, who knew what might happen.  Which Bucky knew wasn’t altogether realistic.  It didn’t mean he could help the thoughts.  

 _On my way home, see you soon_.  Steve texted.  Bucky was halfway to the shower by then because he realized he was spiraling and he needed to _do_ something to take his mind off of the rabbit hole he was going down.  Steve was ok.  Steve would _be_ ok, and Steve needed to do things like this to regain his independence and confidence.  

Bucky turned the water on as hot as he could stand and stepped in, scrubbing maybe a little harder than necessary.  It was ok to feel like he was feeling.  Caretaker fatigue was a real thing and his own trauma because of the Incident was valid.  He knew that. His therapist had told him that. (His _mother_ had told him that and Winifred Barnes was a font of irreverence and wisdom that Bucky trusted more than anyone else).  

And Bucky was crying.  Really, really hard, he realized belatedly (when he gasped for a breath he didn’t realize he wasn’t getting).   _Steve was ok and was going to be ok and he needed to do this for himself and for them and it’d be ok.  It was ok itwasokitwasokitwas_ ok _but what if something happened and it was_ so hard _to do this every day and be supportive and watch Steve go through so much, even to just sit up in the morning and would anything ever be easy for Steve again?  For_ them _again?  How could he even_ ask _that, as if he had things difficult.  Steve’s life was different forever (_ so wasn’t Bucky’s) _and all Bucky could do was think about what they’d be doing if Steve hadn’t been injured.  They might be on vacation, out to lunch or lazing in bed.  Instead, Steve was at a physical therapy appointment and then tomorrow a therapist and Friday he had a follow up with his doctors and anything easy seemed so far away, but that wasn’t fair to Steve, to –_

“Buck?”

Steve was home.  He’d lost track of time.  And he was _sobbing_ in the shower.  

***

Bucky was always there to greet him when he came home, Incident or not. He wasn’t this time.  

“Bucky?”  He called. No response.  

The shower was on.  Oh. Steve headed that way and knocked.

No response.  Well, no. That wasn’t right.  No _verbal_ response.  After a handful of moments he heard a soft, wet gasp and a strangled whimper and Steve didn’t really wait for more.  Whatever was happening, Bucky needed him and he rushed in as fast as his cane would let him and— 

Bucky was crying.  In the shower.   _Sobbing_ ; chest heaving and shoulder shaking and barely getting a breath in.  

“Buck?” 

Bucky startled and nearly slipped, catching himself on the towel rack jutting out of the tile.  

“Steve.”  His voice came out reedy and heavy with guilt.  He wiped hastily at his eyes.  “Sorry.  I just. -Soap, in my eyes.  I didn’t – I lost track of time.”  He sniffled (snorted?  It was a long, thick sound).  “How was your appointment?”

“No.”  Steve wasn’t sure Bucky heard him, his voice came out so quietly, but he stepped forward and eased Bucky into his arms (as much as the edge of the bathtub let him). “Bucky.  Hey.  Tell me.”

He wasn’t sure Bucky would, he was quiet so long.  And then it came spilling out in quiet strained whispers: the fear and the guilt and the what-ifs and what-could-have-beens and the apologies and all of it heavy with guilt.   

“Hey, no.  Sweetheart.” Steve ran a hand down the back of Bucky’s head, resting his palm on the back of Bucky’s neck.  “There’s nothing you have to feel guilty for.  You know that.  I know it’s hard to remember.  Last week, I couldn’t leave the house and had to reschedule two appointments.  That’s ok.  It was a Bad Day.  You’re allowed to have them, too.”

“But I don’t – I don’t have to do any of what you’re doing and you’re so… _strong_ about it.”

“Sometimes.  Sometimes it’s easier than other times.  Sometimes it’s really fucking hard.  Sometimes it’s just easier to seem ok because I’m tired of _not_ being ok.  It doesn’t mean you’re hurting any less.”

“But-“

“It’s not a competition, Buck.  We’re not comparing hurts.  We both hurt, in different ways.  It doesn’t make my hurt or yours any less because they’re different.”

Bucky nestled in and sobbed again, harder and longer.  Steve leaned on his cane when he had to and nudged Bucky to get out of the shower when he needed Bucky to take his own weight again (they were getting better at communicating, for the most part).  

“Come on.  I think we both need a nap.”

Bucky followed Steve into the bedroom and after a little maneuvering they were both warm and comfortable and Bucky seemed more relaxed than he’d been in a while.   

“Thanks, Steve.”

“Mm.”  Steve planted a soft kiss on Bucky’s forehead.  “You always have my back, Buck.  And I’ve always got yours.  Take a break, When we get up, we’ll order Thai and snuggle on the couch and not think about anything else until sun up tomorrow.”

“Maybe nine am instead?”

Steve laughed.  “Yeah. Nine am sounds better.”


End file.
